CHAPTER XII.
FOLLOWING IT UP.
Stephen Walker turned away from Lowndes Square with a feeling of stern satisfaction. At least, the destroyer of his daughter would not go unpunished. He should pay with the loss of his expected fortune for the damage he had wrought. So far, Stephen Walker thought that his success had been all that he could have wished for; but his task was but begun yet. He had resolved upon blighting his enemy's prospects through life. He had determined that he would devote his whole life to this purpose; that he would everywhere dog his footsteps; that wherever he went, whatever he did, he would follow him, and tell the tale to all who would listen to him. Fred Bingham's friends, his work-people, everyone with whom he associated, should know that the pleasant, laughing young gentleman was a heartless scoundrel. “No doubt he had imagined that there was nothing to fear from Carry's father, that the nervous old man would do him no harm, would give him no trouble. Ha, ha!—we shall see.” And Stephen Walker laughed fiercely aloud, and shook his clenched fists as he strode along across Sloane Street into Hans Place. With the dignity of a great passion in him, he felt, and was, more of a man than he had ever before been during his life. He stopped at Mr. Bingham's house and rang, sent in his name, and was shown into the study, where Mr. Bingham was engaged upon some plans. He looked up.
“Ah, Mr. Walker; is it you? Haven't I paid your last quarter's account for newspapers?”
“I do not come about bills, Mr. Bingham; I come upon a very different matter.”
“Ah, indeed; and what may that be?” Mr. Bingham asked, looking up keenly at his visitor, for he saw at once, by his manner, that he had come upon no ordinary business.
“I will tell you, Mr. Bingham,” the man said, shortly.
“Will you take a seat?” Mr. Bingham put in, more and more surprised, but still bland and tranquil in his manner.
“I will not,” Stephen Walker said; “no—not if I never sit down again.”